


Pistol Whipped

by cemetery_driven



Series: crimelord 'verse [5]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bloodplay, Crossdressing, D/s, Drug Use, Gunplay, M/M, Violence Fetish, possessive Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2646578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemetery_driven/pseuds/cemetery_driven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard interrupts a meeting with a new connection Frank's making, and it's actually not too terrible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pistol Whipped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gerardwaysgay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardwaysgay/gifts).



> For Danny, and also to pet-patrick and master-pete who have a cameo in this! Yay!

Gerard hated when Frank had to really play his role as the big boss. On a daily basis, Frank was so high up that by now, all he got was a phone call of an evening if anything was particularly good or particularly terrible. None of his guys really ever rocked up, Frank wasn't a formal-meeting type, but as Frank had explained in as close to simple terms earlier that morning, they were getting a new source, a new connect, and he had to step into Godfather mode.

 

It was always really weird to Gerard, when Frank put it like that. Crime lords and drug rings and cartel connects. It was kind of a lot like the movies, in some ways.

 

Gerard had barely seen Frank since breakfast, aside from a quick glimpse as he'd dashed to the bathroom in between phone calls. Gerard had been lying on the bed, dressed just as Frank sometimes liked him to, in one of Frank's shirts and a skirt they'd bought from a sex shop. There were just times when Gerard was infinitely more comfortable in a skirt, and today was one of those days – or that'd be his excuse if Frank noticed that he was, in fact, wearing a skirt and not sweatpants again. He heard Frank take the new connect into the study, the heavy door close as they presumably had a glass each of wine and started talking business.

 

Gerard wasn't even sure what kind of connect this was. As far as he knew, everything had been pretty decent business-wise – they already had a guy for firearms, some dude Frank had known since before he'd met Gerard, their drugs were steady and apparently worth it, considering how much he and Frank tended to take of them and they still worked.

 

Maybe it was purely a man-power thing. New territory, possibly, but Frank had said he was sick of the shit he got from a few of them already. The fact they were unreliable, almost funnily so, how a thousand bucks would disappear from one week's handback and nine hundred extra would come the week after. Some were too lax on their buyers, from what Gerard could gather, and even though that wasn't necessarily bad because they still kept stable, it was bad for reputation. Gerard wished he understood all the weird fucking intricacies a little more, but Frank didn't like bringing business into the bedroom most of the time, and when he did, it was all that little bit too confusing anyway.

 

Gerard groaned and stretched out his shoulders, setting his copy of Sandman back on the nightstand. It sounded bad, but he wanted attention. He knew Frank had to work, had shit to do and people to see and all that crap, but he wanted some kind of contact with him. It felt strange, empty, without Frank at least around, even if he was quietly reading or something.

 

Gerard fished the small plastic baggie of coke out of the top drawer and slipped it into the chest pocket of the shirt, figuring if he was going to go and whine for attention, maybe a line or two would make Frank happy. He could probably use it, considering the way he'd been stomping around when he'd gone to the bathroom.

 

When he tapped on the door to the study, Gerard let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when Frank called out a small _come in_. 

 

“I'm sorry for interrupting, Sir,” Gerard murmured, his voice small and eyes on his feet as he stepped into the study. “I thought you might like some of this, is all.” He pulled the coke out of his pocket, and held it in front of him. Frank raised an eyebrow.

 

“You know me too well, babydoll,” Frank sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Don't worry, Pete, continue with what you were saying.”

 

Gerard looked up from the floor, and there were two men settled into the leather armchairs opposite Frank. One – Pete, Gerard assumed, as he resumed whatever he was talking about – had a floppy fringe, dark hair sort of like Frank's, eyeliner like Gerard wore when he felt like being pretty. The other had lighter hair, a mousy-brown sort of like Mikey's, maybe a little lighter, and glasses that looked kind of like Mikey's as well. Maybe the other dude and Mikey could be friends, bond over fucking vision impairments or some shit. Gerard shook his head and shuffled shyly over to Frank's side, settling on his knees next to Frank's chair.

 

“He's a pretty one,” Pete muttered, raising an eyebrow. Frank put his hand on Gerard's shoulder, almost defensively.

 

“He's off limits,” Frank retorted. “Completely off limits, don't even think about it.”

 

Pete leaned back in his chair. “I won't, but if you ever wanna, y'know, borrow Patrick for a night, I'm down with a one-off trade-”

 

“No,” Frank repeated, not loud, but Gerard swallowed because he knew the danger in that tone. “Off limits, Wentz. End of. Get back on your fucking sales pitch.”

 

Patrick – Gerard assumed, anyway, nudged at Pete's foot. “Right. Well, I've got a few people already working for me, and we've been pushing this shit as best we can, but I think combined we could make a hell of a lot more cash, and there wouldn't be a territorial issue, your guys can back off my guys, we got plenty of buyers around mine too, doesn't matter what you got, these kids'll have as much as they can get.”

 

Gerard tuned out, setting up a line each for himself and Frank on the edge of the desk. Frank was the one to pull a note out of the top drawer, his eyes still focused on Pete, and Gerard could feel the fucking tension. He barely even noticed when Frank snorted the line, fast and hard, and Gerard knew that was because he was getting pissed off. Maybe he'd be able to convince Frank into popping a Valium or something later, just to chill him out. Gerard kind of needed one too, this Pete guy was making him uneasy with how casually he changed from one subject to the other, and the Patrick dude kept glancing at him constantly.

 

Gerard snorted the second line and rocked back on his knees, his sinuses burning. It was a good burn, familiar, almost comforting. He really felt like fucking Valium now though, because he'd fucking thought about it, but it'd have to wait a little while.

 

“I think I can see where you're coming from,” Frank murmured, lighting a cigarette and kicking his feet up on the desk. He handed it down to Gerard, then lit another for himself. “I want forty-sixty, your favor. I think that's a fair call, no? I mean, you're not stable, so you're gonna want access to at least some of my shit. You buy the shit from my guys, and that's gonna cost extra. Forty-sixty _profit_ ,or it's out.”

 

Gerard took a steady drag off his cigarette, leaning his head back and blowing it toward the ceiling. The other two looked at each other, raised eyebrows, before Pete spoke up.

 

“We'll take it.”

 

Gerard saw the twitch in Frank's fingertips, the tiny gesture of  _fuck yeah_ . “Good. I'll give you this, it's got all the numbers,” he said, handing over a piece of notepaper. “Each person has a designated poison, for whatever you need. Call them in twenty-four hours, and I'll have you set up.”

 

Patrick seemed to visibly relax, and Pete shook hands with Frank firmly as they both stood up. “You're not going to regret this, I swear.”

 

Frank cocked an eyebrow. “I better not. Come on, Gee, up, be a fucking host.”

 

Gerard blinked, almost dumbly, and rose to his feet as well, slightly awkward. He pulled at the back of the skirt, smoothing the pleats down over his thighs the best he could. Patrick wouldn't stop sneaking fucking  _glances_ and it was uncomfortable as fuck.

 

“He's just wondering why you're in a skirt,” Pete shrugged, like it was nothing. “Usually he associates skirts with having done something bad. Humiliating.”

 

Gerard shook his head. “It's just comfortable.”

 

Pete cocked an eyebrow. “I'm sure it is.”

 

Frank's eyebrow twitched, but he didn't say anything, and Gerard swallowed. “I'm sorry,” Patrick mumbled. “Sorry.”

 

“Don't be,” Pete interrupted. “Don't be, 'Trick. He's kind of cute, isn't he, all dressed up like a little-”

 

Gerard jumped when Frank pulled out his gun, clicking the safety off. “You get the fuck out, Wentz, and take him with you, or you're gonna be the one regretting shit.”

 

Pete raised his hands, and Patrick darted behind him, looking like he was about to figuratively – and possibly literally, Gerard wasn't sure – shit himself. “I dig it, man. Sir. He's yours, alright,” Pete said, nodding. “I apologize.”

 

“First split's my favour now,” Frank stated, and it wasn't a question. “I get sixty or you're getting fucked up.”

 

Pete just kept nodding. “Yes, okay, first split is sixty your way, and he is yours, alright.”

 

“Get the fuck out,” Frank hissed. “Get the fuck out before I decide you're not worth it.”

 

Pete and Patrick skittered out of the study, the door clicking shut behind them, and Gerard heard them skip the stairs two at a time at least. Frank crossed the room and opened the closet full of screens, and briefly checked his security cameras to make sure their car had left the driveway before he sat the gun back down on the desk and sighed.

 

“If they fuck me over, I'm gonna kill them,” he muttered. “I swear, bare fucking hands, I'll kill them both.”

 

Gerard sunk down to his knees again, and Frank settled back in his chair. “Just make Jimmy kill them, it's easier that way.”

 

“No. No way,” Frank said, shaking his head. “Nobody fucks with you, even more than no one fucks with me. If they do shit, it's gonna get personal.”

 

Gerard pressed his face into Frank's thigh, trying to be comforting. “It's alright, Frankie. I'm okay, he was just... a dick, I guess. I shouldn't have worn the skirt anyway, I should've just left you to business-”

 

Frank grabbed at Gerard's hair, making him squeak. “No, alright? Fuck that. You fucking live here, Gee, you decide what you wear and do where, when, how, whatever-”

 

“I wanted attention,” Gerard murmured, voice small and timid. “That's why I came in, I wanted attention, and-”

 

Frank landed a sharp slap to Gerard's cheek, and he winced. “I'm not fucking stupid, I know what you wanted. He didn't have the right to give it to you.”

 

Gerard whimpered, eyes watering and cheek stinging slightly, but nodded. “Sorry, Sir.”

 

“In saying that,” Frank continued, running his fingers through Gerard's hair. “You do look like a pretty little fuckdoll right now, don't you?”

 

Gerard's teeth skittered over his lip, but he didn't reply.

 

“It's alright, babydoll,” Frank muttered. “You know you're a whore, but just for me, isn't that right?”

 

Gerard nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“What are you?”

 

“I'm your whore,” Gerard whispered. “I'm your whore, Sir. And I'm really good at it, promise.”

 

Frank cocked his eyebrow. “Good, huh? I'm not sure I believe that,” he said, smirking. Gerard bit his lip again, biting back a playful smile.

 

“I'm the best little slut in town,” Gerard insisted. “I can suck it and smile, and I'm the tightest you'll ever have, promise.”

 

Frank's expression didn't change at all. “Prove it then.”

 

Gerard threw him a playful wink, and Frank tugged at his hair.

 

“That ain't proving shit, honey.”

 

Gerard's fingers worked open Frank's jeans, practised and fast. Frank lifted his hips to let him tug down the denim, and Gerard smirked.

 

“No underwear? That's bad, mister.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Frank hissed, gripping the back of Gerard's head. “Someone didn't fucking wash them.”

 

Gerard blinked, because there  _had_ been something he'd forgotten to do after all. He didn't ponder on the thought too long, because Frank was shoving his mouth over his cock and there wasn't enough time or want for thought when there was cock pressing between his parted lips.

 

Frank moaned softly as Gerard worked his tongue around Frank's length, tracing circles around the head, almost-teasing. He kept his eyes on Frank's, wide, smiling as best he could with a mouth full of dick. 

 

“There's your proof,” he murmured, pulling off Frank's cock briefly before Frank forced him back down, and Gerard choked, sputtered, before his throat relaxed enough to take him in completely.

 

“Now, you're fucking proving it,” Frank sighed, rocking his hips shallowly, the head of his cock brushing the back of Gerard's throat. “Smile, babydoll, you said you could suck it and smile, didn't you?”

 

Gerard looked up again, and it was a lot more difficult to smile with his gag reflex threatening to kick in. His eyes were watering, and he kept having to consciously swallow every time Frank thrust into his throat.

 

“There we go,” Frank smirked. “Fuck yeah, I'm going to ruin you, you know that?”

 

Gerard gurgled in reply, because it wasn't like anything else was going to come out. Frank tugged at his hair, making him whimper, and landed another sharp smack across his face.

 

“Up, bend over, now,” Frank ordered, and Gerard gracelessly scrambled to his feet, leaning his elbows on the hard wood of the desk. He shook his ass, just a little, and Frank smacked him again.

 

“Jeez, Sir,” Gerard murmured, a cheeky smile on his face. “I thought you were gonna ruin me.”

 

Frank kicked his jeans off his ankles, and tangled his hand in Gerard's hair again, pulling him upright, and Gerard whined. Frank bit at his neck, just a soft little love-nip.

 

“Who said I'd fucking started?” he asked, voice low and dark and poisonous, and Gerard twitched when he pulled even tighter. “You thought I'd fucking started?”

 

Gerard bit his lip, and nodded as much as Frank's tight grip would allow.

 

“Stupid little slut,” Frank laughed, shoving Gerard forward and slamming his face down against the table. Gerard squeaked when his cheekbone hit the wood, and he could feel the bruise forming before Frank yanked him back upright again. “You're still too white. I'm not even half-done til you're bleeding, babydoll.”

 

Gerard whimpered and curled his hands into fists, trying to stop himself from touching the forming bruise on his face. Frank didn't like it when he did shit like that.

 

Frank's fingers wrapped around the gun on the desk, and Gerard shuddered. They hadn't gone this far before. Never, never ever. Frank brushed the barrel against Gerard's cheek, just soft, the metal cool and hard and strange, and Gerard bit his lip.

 

“Frankie, I-”

 

“Shut up,” Frank hissed, tapping the barrel against the forming bruise, and Gerard flinched slightly. “I could kill you with both ends of this, did you know that?”

 

Gerard nodded, just the slightest movement of his head. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Put this end in your mouth, click, click, fuckin' bang,” Frank murmured, then flicked the gun around his finger, tapping the handle against Gerard's temple. “This end's more fun though. This end would break you first.”

 

Gerard swallowed, and nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

 

Frank tapped a little harder. “I didn't ask you shit, babydoll, so don't fucking say shit,” he said, his voice so unsettlingly calm and even it made Gerard shiver. “Unbutton that shirt. Slow. Like the whore you are, like the girls in the clubs do.”

 

Gerard obeyed, his fingers slightly shaky as he worked open the buttons, one by one, slowing when Frank clicked his tongue when his hands moved too fast.

 

“There we go, good boy,” he cooed, and Gerard felt his cheeks flush red as he let the shirt fall from his shoulders. “Pretty little slut, aren't you?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Gerard replied. “Your pretty little slut, Sir.”

 

Frank let go of his hair, and stepped back. “Turn around, wanna look at you.”

 

Gerard turned, his thighs against the top of the desk, and flicked his hair out of his face. “Do I look good, Sir?”

 

Gerard went down like a ton of bricks, his knees colliding with the carpet almost as fast as the butt of Frank's gun collided with his face. The sob that came from the back of his throat wasn't even expected, it just... happened. All Gerard could taste was blood, a lot of blood.

 

“Frankie, what the fuck-”

 

“Shut the _fuck up!_ ” Frank yelled, and Gerard cowered. “Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? Are you that fucking dumb?”

 

Gerard didn't look up, just brushed his mouth with his fingers. His lip was busted. Pretty fucking badly busted too, by the feel of it. Fuck. “No, Sir, I'm not, I'm sorry.”

 

Frank laughed, and it was like something out of a horror movie. He dropped the gun back on the desk, and Gerard heard it skid across the surface and land with a dull thud on the floor on the other side. Frank landed a sharp kick to Gerard's thigh, and he curled in again.

 

“Get out of my fucking way, I want another line,” he hissed, and Gerard shuffled sideways on his knees. Frank tapped out the coke, and Gerard didn't have to look up to know that it disappeared with practised ease up his nose.

 

“Hurry up, fucking have yours, fuck,” Frank murmured, tossing his head back and blinking wildly against the burn in his sinuses. Gerard scrambled to his knees, just-high-enough to lean over and snort his share. It burned, it burned worse than the first line, he'd gone too fucking fast and it stung and _fucking hurt_.

 

Gerard spluttered and coughed. “Sir, Frankie, I-”

 

Frank dropped to his knees, hand tangling in Gerard's hair again. It was comforting – slightly hard, a little bit of a sting from the way he tugged and pulled, but it was comforting. “You're all bloody, it's cute.”

 

Gerard blinked. “Cute?”

 

“Shit yeah,” Frank breathed, running a finger over Gerard's chin, picking up the stray trails of still-running blood. “I might not even make your ass bleed now.”

 

Gerard whimpered, but nodded. “Okay, Sir.”

 

Frank kissed him, hard, all tongue and teeth, brutal and vicious and Gerard whined, his eyes threatening tears because his lip _stung_ when Frank's tongue brushed against it, and when Frank bit down on the source of all the blood, he sobbed again a little.

 

“Yeah, cry,” Frank said, the slightest hint of a moan in his voice. “You know I like it when you cry, babydoll.”

 

Gerard swallowed, and didn't have a chance to reply before Frank threw him sideways by the hair, his shoulder colliding with the floor, the same heavy-dull thud as his knees had made, the same slight burn against his skin with the friction. Frank shoved and pulled at him, total manhandling, getting him up on his knees with his face pressed into the carpet, ass sticking up in the air.

 

Frank flipped up the skirt and tugged Gerard's underwear down, grabbing hard at his pale little asscheeks, leaving crescent-moon indents from his fingernails. Gerard whimpered, just softly.

 

“Beg for it, Gee,” Frank breathed, his voice full of just... lust. “Ask really nice.”

 

Gerard licked his lips. His mouth was far too dry. “Please, Sir. Please, I promise, I promise I'm the tightest little fuck you'll ever have, let me prove it. Just... just use me, please, Sir, let me prove I'm the best.”

 

Gerard heard the wet slicking sound of Frank lubing himself up, felt a stray drop land on his calf and he twitched at the cold. “I don't know, babydoll, you're pretty and all, but you're a whore.”

 

“I'm _your_ whore, Sir,” Gerard whined. “Private property and I promise, I promise I'm the best you'll ever have or you can just... just please, Sir, I want you to fuck me til I can't see straight.”

 

“You always do,” Frank murmured, pressing his mouth to Gerard's shoulderblade, pressing soft, small kisses along the line of his bone. Gerard twitched when Frank rubbed his cock against his ass, teasing. “What if I didn't fuck you, babydoll? What would you do, huh?”

 

Gerard let out some animalistic, desperate groan of frustration. “I don't know, Sir, just _please-”_

 

“Nuh uh,” Frank tutted, pressing the head of his cock just-barely over Gerard's hole, making him twitch and try and grab at nothing. “Tell me what you'd do without my cock in your ass, Gee.”

 

“Die, probably,” Gerard huffed, banging his head lightly against the floor, his legs tensing up because he was starting to fucking _ache_ with Frank just teasing him like this. So fucking close, so fucking close it was impossible, yet so far away and it was driving him mad. “I'd die without you, Sir, wouldn't even care, would just curl up and die if you didn't want me anymore. I really need it, Frankie, fuck, please, it's almost _hurting_.”

 

Gerard's legs shook, his whole body fucking vibrated, and he let out the lowest, most fucking _delicious_ moan when Frank finally pushed into him with one long, slow stroke.

 

“You're not ever gonna die, babydoll,” Frank murmured, pressing another smattering of kisses along Gerard's spine. “Keep going, I like it when my little whore starts begging, you know that.”

 

“Frankie, Sir, _please,”_ Gerard whined, and Frank could hear the desperation just getting worse and worse. It was tearing at his vocal chords, it was making his brain short-circuit and words fail. Nothing else existed to Gerard except Frank, nothing in the fucking world. “Please, fuck me, please just... just fuck me and bruise me and _hurt me_ , I don't care if I come or not, Frankie, just _please_ , _please, please..._ ”

 

Frank bit his lip and gripped Gerard's hips tight, the soft flesh perfect and smooth in his hands. Girlish hips, girlish and pale and grabbable, perfect and fucking cute just like his ass. Just like Gerard in general. Frank could feel the tension in every muscle, the way he was so insanely on-edge, muscles pulled as tight as possible as he waited and waited and it had to hurt. Gerard liked to hurt, but he liked it when Frank fucked him and it hurt more than anything. Frank dug in his nails, made a few shallow thrusts, just little rolls of his hips to make Gerard melt, and he felt him just... fall apart around his cock, relax, and he could _move._

 

Gerard turned into a bloody, purpling mess and it was the most beautiful thing Frank had ever seen. It always was, nothing could ever fucking top that. Gerard's thighs were shaking already – he'd held out too long, just the smooth, fast thrusts of Frank's cock just-brushing his sweet spot was making him shake.

 

“Beg me to come, Gee,” Frank demanded, and Gerard's thighs shook even harder, his hands balled into fists, busted lip tenderly between his teeth and that had to hurt too.

 

“Wanna come for you, Sir, please,” he breathed, his words starting to string together almost mindlessly. “You feel so fuck-fucking good, Frankie, please, this little whore wants to come for you, wants to show you that I can get even-even fucking tighter, want you to just fuck me and choke me and please, Sir, please, let your little fuckdoll come-”

 

Gerard wailed when Frank yanked him up onto his knees by his hair, one hand pulling as hard as possible at the shock of black and the other wrapping tight-tight around the almost-transparent skin of his throat. He tried to make some sound, a moan, a little whorish scream maybe, but the sudden lack of oxygen reduced it to a high-pitched crackle at best.

 

“You make a mess,” Frank hissed, biting at Gerard's earlobe, the sweet little whimpers just making him thrust faster into Gerard's ass. “You fucking lick it up, little slut.”

 

Gerard nodded, as best he could, and reached back to dig his fingertips into Frank's thighs. His legs were tight, string-tight, and Frank could feel the strain start to build, the slight twitch, the high-pitched whine in the back of Gerard's throat with what oxygen was still in his lungs. It sounded so sweet, so wrecked and desperate, and the little squeeze he made on Frank's thigh made it that much sweeter.

 

“Come on, babydoll,” Frank murmured, tugging harder at Gerard's hair, and Gerard's legs twitched and he went _so fucking tight_ Frank had to tone it down a notch for a minute or he'd end up hurting them both in a less-than-delicious way. Frank let go of his throat, dropped his hands back to grab those girlish hips, and Gerard just... collapsed, face first into the carpet, breathing heavily and shaking everywhere.

 

It doesn't take long for Frank to come, a wrecked, low groan struggling out of his mouth, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of Gerard's hips, leaving tiny little red marks on the expanse of pale. He never wants to move again. Never. His breathing is just as heavy as Gerard's, and Gerard's still trembling just-slightly, his thighs shuddering. His knees probably ache.

 

As much as Frank wants to stay just... right there, warm and hot and sticky and gross forever, he's not stupid enough to think it's possible. He pulls out, and Gerard winces and whines and half-crawls so he's lying flat on the floor, head on his folded arms, stretching the tension out of his calves and thighs.

 

Frank grabs a handful of tissues from the desk – they weren't really useful for anything but cleaning up jizz, or blood, or occasionally when he had allergies, but he kept them there out of habit anyway – and wiped himself clean, pressing a small kiss to Gerard's tailbone.

 

“Don't clean me up, Sir,” Gerard whispered, looking over his shoulder with a blackening eye and that face full of drying blood. He looked so fucking beautiful, all fucked up. “Wanna... I don't know, I like it, Frankie.”

 

Frank sniffed and shrugged, tossing the wad of tissues in the wastepaper bin, and settled in over Gerard's back, pressing his face into the sweaty skin just where his neck met his shoulders.

 

“You're fuckin' perfect, babydoll,” Frank breathed, just warm and suddenly overwhelmingly fucking happy with everything in the world.

 

Gerard's cheeks flushed red. “I... I gotta clean up the floor, before it dries, Sir.”

 

Frank gracelessly reeled himself back up onto his knees, running a hand through his hair. He really needed to fucking wash it, his bathing habits were turning into how Gerard's used to be and it was a little bit gross. “Fuck, yeah, sorry, babe. Come on, clean it up, like you were told.”

 

Gerard pulled himself up onto his knees and spun around, facing Frank, the look on his face that little bit apprehensive. Frank knew Gerard wasn't the biggest fan of licking his own jizz off of anything, which kind of made sense, because Frank wouldn't eat his own come, but Gerard kind of... fucking loved it when Frank covered him in it, so at the same time, it didn't make any fucking sense at all. Gerard lowered himself down on his elbows, eyes trained almost too-well on Frank's face, and he darted out that little pink tongue, wincing when he tasted the bitterness and sticky-cold.

 

“All of it, babydoll,” Frank murmured, and if he was still fucking sixteen he'd already be hard again because _fuck_ , those pretty little eyes, just-slightly bloodhot from oxygen deprivation, the blood all over his white little face. The way his eyes blinked shut every time he swallowed, the little shudder in his spine. It was almost too fucking much.

 

Gerard smacked his lips and sat back on his knees, and Frank nodded. “Good boy, babydoll,” he said, pulling Gerard close into a sticky-gross-cold-sweat sort of hug, and there was still that faint little tremor in Gerard's body.

 

“How about,” Frank began, pressing a little kiss to Gerard's hair. “How about I clean you up, and I'll make you a cuppa coffee just how you like it-”

 

“With cinnamon, Sir?”

 

“Yes, don't interrupt,” Frank continued, and he _almost_ tapped Gerard on the nose but thought better of it. The gesture was enough, anyway. “I'll make you a coffee, and I'll find some more codeine, and... we'll watch something fucking dumb. But I gotta get a picture of that fucked up little face of yours first.”

 

Gerard swallowed and nodded, his head pressed close into Frank's chest, the fabric of the skirt starting to make Frank's thighs itch when it brushed against his skin. “Yes, please, Frankie, Sir.”

 

Frank tilted Gerard's head up, and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to what small part of Gerard's lip he was certain wasn't busted in one way or another, and helped him up off the floor.

 

“Go sit on the bath, babydoll. I'll just put my gun somewhere safe, alright?”

 

Gerard nodded, and scuttled out of the room. He didn't wobble when he walked, which was good – no concussion, in theory. Frank picked up his gun and shoved it back in the second drawer, pulling out a couple of pills from the codeine stash in the process, and headed down to the kitchen to make the coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points and love for anyone who gets the Marilyn Manson references in this, whoops.


End file.
